


Raising Hell

by indigochiiild



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Amnesia, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Good Guys Lose, Healing, Lots of Cursing, M/M, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redemption, Slow Burn, alternative ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9840695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigochiiild/pseuds/indigochiiild
Summary: Courier Six and the roads she walks.





	1. recalling the times i have died

**Author's Note:**

> (AN - this story has been edited and expanded from it's original posting on ff.net as "I Am The Storm")
> 
> I wanted a darker Courier story. I wanted her to walk through hell to come out a changed woman. As someone with PTSD, I wanted to explore the aftermath of trauma through my courier. I won't give her a name for the purpose of immersion, I find it's easier to read Fallout stories when we don't assign them a name, though if I stick to it long enough I may eventually change my mind in later chapters. 
> 
> Content Warning for this story: Violence, blood, major character death, trauma, and mentions of sexual abuse and slavery.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> title song: "H." by Tool

The beating of her heart like a war drum was the only sound she could hear as she trekked across the Mojave. Her lungs devoid of air, calves burned with the fires of hell she'd been running. She was sweaty, dirty, and entirely grateful she no longer donned long hair - the caked dirt would have been an absolute bitch to claw through. 

The logical response, she'd mused after heading this way, would have been to find her friends - all off in different directions now as a tactical response months after the Dam had been taken - who would protect her, kiss her wounds and dote on her as if she were a wounded child. But she couldn't go to them. She couldn't bring this death to them. The blood on her hands stank with the lingering effects of foolish arrogance, believing that she could fix everything and nothing could go wrong for her. The thought of their faces now made her physically sick to her stomach. _No. I have to do this alone._

She stalled for several days after locating ED-E and her Pimp-Boy, heading in any direction with her companion once again until finally she was given purpose. She sought out something familiar, something tangible that she'd mapped out once before, with a person she knew despite everything in their shared history she could trust. 

In a flash and out of nowhere she remembered Siri and barreled over, wretching along the dirt aligning her path. Her throat stung with the action, her entire body on fire.

As she looked up, Courier Six found herself standing in a memory from a little less than a year ago. Before the Dam had been taken, a time when everything was so new to her, before she'd been enslaved, before Boone and Siri... 

In this memory, she stood across from the man in the checkered suit and the air in her lungs seemed to be punched out of her body. 

_Everything had led to this moment; every person she'd met along the way, every favor she'd done, every asshole she gunned down or punched a hole into. Her war path started when she woke to her long dark hair in pieces across her head and a nifty scar on the top right of her hairline. With nothing - not her name or knowledge of who she was prior to taking a cap in her crown - she shaved off the remainder of her mangled hair and set off across the wastes, making a name for herself in place of the one she'd lost. Courier Six. Six. The only memory was the one she festered in, of the man standing across from her now, the man in the checkered suit who put a bullet in her brain._

_At this point in time, she was in Caesar’s camp, given the direct order to dispose of Benny in whatever way she desired. With limited options and the need to finish this herself fresh in her mind, she'd chosen death by combat. And now there was nothing left to do, the pawns were set and the rest of the chess pieces looked on in condescending interest._

__

_She’d known going there was a mistake, she knew that there was something about the Legion that set her spine rigid with warning. She knew she should have gone about killing Benny in a more stealthy way, one that wouldn't require her to be here. She knew she should have listened to Cass and seduced the wormy little man, or Arcade who thought a silver tongue would convince him to just hand over the damn chip. She knew she should have brought someone. Their eyes, slavers and rapists, were distracting. She glanced to the side and was almost cut down by Benny's first blow, his promise of not making this easy for her fresh in her mind. The courier dodged his machete swing and lunged at him, a shrill cry of rage breaking out past her lips._

__

__

_Though he was quicker, more agile like a feline, she had the advantage of strength and each blow she landed was deep and unforgiving. He panted out in pain as she made a direct cut across his chest, she gasped as he sliced into her abdomen. Everything moved so quickly, the rage building inside of her increasing as they beat into each other more. Faintly she heard war drums, though whether this was just the pumping of her heartbeat in her ear or actual war drums pounding in the background she had no time to decipher. When the fight was close to finishing another wave of adrenaline rushed through her like a storm crashing with thunderous intensity. She dropped her machete, jumped atop his body effectively disarming him, and proceeded to beat the life out of him with nothing more than her leather-clad fists._

_Something from her past resurfaced then. A different man under her much in the same way. The smell of tobacco and sweat hanging loosely around the clammy room. She could not escape. The memory burned her so badly the pent up anger inside was released in a single moment, a great cry of victory and agony ripping again through her as she sat atop his lifeless body. If she was able to cry she would._

_Courier Six hung limply on top of him, the blood from the cuts across her legs and abdomen running down and mingling with that which pooled out of his body. She became acutely aware of how fucking insane she looked, and of their eyes watching her. She knew even though she could not visibly see them in this moment over the torch lights that they were watching her. She would feel their eyes on her, painfully aware of her gender, for the rest of her time here. The way the Bull King and his closest advisers looked directly at her, true interest etched on their faces and the wheels inside of his balding head turning... she knew she had made a huge mistake._

Every night. Every fucking night she does things differently.

As the memories faded from her for the time being, she decided she did not feel like listening to the gravel voice of Mr. New Vegas, didn't even feel like sticking to the road. Instead she opted for the steady humming of ED-E traveling close behind her as she trekked a straight path to the location of the Divide. Familiar comforts feeling strangely foreign after months of wasting away. 

She spotted a vacant building off in the middle of the desert. Six made her way over, ED-E dutifully following behind, and much to her delight there was a bedroll and a place to build a fire that clearly had been out of commission for weeks.

She plopped down atop the thin material and with the force of the jerk, the memory jumped quickly to her being slammed into the bed, the heat and pain. Then the cool feeling of emptiness followed.

The memory exited her mind as quickly as it came, whether by her own volition or through the trauma she knew she was carrying, she couldn't tell. Frustrated that this shift between memory and reality was now going to be her normal routine, Courier Six tossed onto her back and decided, as she gazed up into the endless night sky the building was too torn apart to shield her from, that maybe one day she would remember the lifelong gone and maybe one day she would let herself grieve for the life she lived today, but today she needed to focus on what she was best at. Surviving.

The more she stared up at the stars, the longer it felt like the stars were no longer glimmering off millions of miles away from her and instead were staring daggers into her. Thousands of eyes ravaged her body unmercifully, accusingly. Another kill on your notch. Another friend dead. Murderer. Monster. _Whore._ A dark storm swirling in around her, the colors of black smoke and crimson blood filling her senses.

\-----

_“If you think you're doing this alone, that you can send me with them and I'll go with my tail between my legs, then you're out of your mind.”_

_Six was almost out the fucking door and at this point, she couldn’t pretend not to hear him. The skin of her brow pulled together in a pained grimace as she turned back to look up at him. Boone was considerably taller than her - which wasn’t saying much because _everyone_ was taller than her - so even when she was far away from him she had to look up at him. A breath of silence with an unspoken weight passed between them as they embraced the inevitability of confrontation before she casually attempted to alleviate the tension, “you should take off your sunglasses when you’re indoors, you look like an asshole,” offering him one of her signature grins. Maybe a few months ago he wouldn’t have known she was joking; he would have gotten more annoyed and bit out some kind of insult right back, or he would have stormed off in a moody adolescent sort of way. But he knows her, so he lets out a laugh that sounds more like a cough, “I didn’t know I was offending everyone here, my apologies,” he deadpans as he nods to the completely empty casino floor of the Lucky 38. She relaxes and walks over to the wall he’s leaned up against, taking the space next to him. The skin on her bare arms gently presses against his skin, and a moment of contented silence passes between them. _

_They’re kindred spirits, she’d decided at one point not too long ago. Both on a never-ending warpath, both silent types. She can fake charisma as well as any of the casino bosses - she had to learn that quickly if she wanted to survive New Vegas - but at the end of the day when all of her walls are down, she is a solitary creature. She doesn’t like talking if she doesn’t have to, she prefers being stuck inside her mind for a while to collect her racing thoughts, and she hates diplomacy. When Courier Six doesn’t like you, you’ll know and she won’t be able to hide it from you, which definitely caused her a lot of grief with many of the NCR officers they’d encountered. And despite his allegiances with the NCR, she knew he liked this about her - that she was straightforward and spoke little, and was horrible with authority figures. She figured it reminded him of Carla, who on the first day visiting him at an NCR camp told off a commanding officer for trying to keep her safe. She remembered when he told her that story, she resonated with the way Carla felt about being smothered by people trying to protect her. She didn’t dare vocalize this, of course. She didn’t have a place to talk about a dead woman._

_Courier Six could tell at first he was wary of joining her in her little revenge quest and she could tell he figured someone her height would slow him down. He’s denied this, of course, probably to avoid hurting her feelings but she knew. It wasn’t until he saw her wielding a ballistic fist into the carcass of a fire gecko that he stopped shooting her those worried looks. His intake of a breath, like he was about to speak, and then immediately pause was what pulled her out of her thoughts and she stopped him before he could speak._

_“Alright look, if you’re going to give me the third degree I’m walking out right now. I got it from Cass and Arcade and Vero and everyone else and I don’t need it from you too.” He let out the breath he was going to reserve for telling her off and decided to let the silence linger as an invitation for her to speak more. “I have to do this, Boone. Alone. And you have to go with them. I can't lose you, ok?” He snorted without missing a beat, “I don't care what you have to do, you're not going through this by yourself. What the fuck do you think, that I'm going to just fuck off and let you get captured and...” he hung the rest of his sentence between them, too frustrated to continue, and she looked at him, through his glasses and his recon beret and _at him._ He didn’t meet her eyes, of course. He never did when she looked at him like this, she noted that it probably made him uneasy. _

_“Boone, I survived getting shot in the head and lord knows what else before that, I can handle a bunch of dudes in skirts. I’m a survivor.”_

_He abruptly jolted away from her and looked at her sternly over the rim of his glasses. “You’re cocky is what you are and it’s going to get you killed,” he said coldly, with so much anger buried beneath, before walking away._

\-----

The memory ends, and she is too sore to do more than slowly open her eyes. Every night that this memory is brought up - of her last day in the Lucky 38, before the battle of Hoover Dam - she pretends she lets him walk away. She doesn't change her mind and bring him with her to the battlefield. She lets him go.

But that's not at all what really happened. They had discussed it that night at the Lucky 38, about what would happen if they lost. And when they did, she acted quickly sending her friends in separate directions. Veronica and Arcade escorted Lily to California, where she knew they could have safe passage from the Brotherhood chapter out west. Raul and Cass took Rex another direction, to Joshua Graham, to receive sanctuary she knew he could provide.

And Boone... she decided to take him with her and ED-E. Because they were kindred spirits. Because he refused to leave her. Because she selfishly didn't want to be alone, and exploited his need for vengeance, and _god she fucking hated herself._

She will always remember the way she hugged them all so tightly as they said goodbye, one by one. She will always remember the feeling of Rex's fur, of the scent of whiskey in Cass's hair, of the way Arcade gripped her so tightly she thought she was going to burst, or the way that Vero punched her in the arm through tears before making her promise they would all see each other again. She couldn't help herself, the memory choking her as her eyes stung.

_Boone and Six headed into the hills, but not before watching them get carted away into different caravans, all running away before the Legion would hit Vegas. So many caravans leaving, all feeling the threat of what would happen if they stayed._

_In the ensuing weeks, their plan had been a success and no one had suspected covert demolition attacks once the Dam had been taken and the red storm swept across the region. They were careful and cautious, killing a few legionaries here and there for sport. Eventually, their numbers rose to one hundred and eighty legionaries’ dead by her hand and his count was a few short of hers, which she had teased him over quietly. They hid in the hills for a long time – when not killing they simply watched the devastation, not exchanging many words for fear of raising attention. He would be her rock to keep her from jumping into a Legion party, guns blazing, and he would hold her as she cried angry tears as smoke rose from Freeside. She didn't know what she would have done without him._

__

__

_But her luck ran out, as it often did, and one day she learned what being without him was like. She woke to find his space empty, with no trace of where he'd gone. She turned ED-E back on quickly and went out looking for him, that aching in her stomach growing fouler as his absence lingered. She would never have expected this to be how it would happen. She thought their vengeance quest would end in them dying side by side after taking as many Legion with them to hell._

__

__

_She didn't eat or sleep for the next few nights, moved towards areas they had previously been to retrace their steps. She had been quietly running a diagnostic on ED-E one night, shutting him down to enhance his sensors after they had secured the perimeter when she felt the icy knife to her throat._

__

__

_Six went entirely still and a breath ghosted across her ear. “Stand, courier,” it said, the cool silk tone unmistakable. She did not stand, instead contemplating her chances of survival if she took a moment to slam a fist into his privates. The knife pressed harder, a breadth away from breaking the skin. “Slowly,_ Courier Six. _”_

Back in present time, she felt the bile rising in her throat and turned over onto her side, the feeling of deep bodily paralysis from the fear taking over her. The wolf of the Legion had caught her. She tried to tune those memories out but they kept coming, felt the weight of them sinking her further into her mattress. Of the way she left ED-E and her Pimp-boy in the dust of the Mojave, her last connection to her friends and her life before. The way Vulp- _he_ had her disrobe and disarm in front of him, down to just her underclothes, and dragged her across the Mojave. Of how she fought him the whole way. 

_Slowly, as they made their way down the hill, her back to him, she felt a wild urge take over. The words_ fuck it _drifted through her head as she rounded on him, disarming him when she thought she had caught him off guard. He seemed prepared and responded in kind by grabbing her by the back of her neck and shoving her face into the dirt. She thrashed, making animalistic grunting sounds she didn't have time to register. He tried to mount her back, but not before she hoisted her upper body up enough to elbow him across the jaw. The second it took for him to stumble was second enough for her to turn to him and clock him across the face and run._

Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. 

It was all she could repeat. Her heart raced faster. She was reliving the pain. 

_She ran and ran until her legs buckled underneath her. Gasping out the dust which seemed to catch in her lungs, "Fuck you!" She cried at no one. He wasn't nearby, she had no idea who she was cursing._

__

__

_The body hoisting her up and throwing her to the ground, pinning her with a hand cannon against her back, told her otherwise. She couldn't move. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. "Do that again and you won't like what happens."_

She registered she had swallowed by the stinging sensation in her throat that seemed to extend down to her toes. She couldn't move.

_They had been walking for days across the empty wastes, the barrel of his gun pressed to her back. At one point when she wasn't trying to escape and getting pistol whipped as a reaction, she was being especially nasty to him, jabbing about his childhood and psychoanalyzing him, called him Caesar’s whore and insinuated he enjoyed serving Caesar sexually. Instead of shutting her up, he chuckled darkly. “If you’re going to be rude I’d prefer the sounds of you wailing over a loss of your limbs. Caesar wanted you brought to him alive, but left the manner of your arrival up to me.”_

__

__

_She'd laughed before she could stop herself, and he pulled her flush against his body. "And what is so funny?"_

__

__

_She looked him dead in the eyes, a fire from another life building in her belly. “You will never hear me wail. Never in your life.”_

__

__

_He seized her throat hard and pulled it close to his, “Would you like to put money on that statement, Courier Six?”_

In the present, she became conscious that she had been laying in this bed a whole day. It was night now. The shock of reliving the memory had let a whole day pass as she had just... stared blankly out at the wasteland. She hadn't eaten since yesterday night but knew hunger was luxury. 

Courier Six slowly rose and looked to ED-E beside her - dutifully keeping watch - then to her golden Pipboy. They weren't far now. They just had to pass the burned city of Primm, and head up the i-15. She could do this. She vowed to not stop until she reached the overpass. 

\-----

_The great Courier Six, ruthless instrument of death and war, had been exactly as he had remembered her all those years ago. She had a full head of hair then, long and dark and untamed. She stood before him, the same wild woman with that look of hellfire in her odd eyes, only now her hair was gone - shaved off to proudly display the bullet wound in her temple. She had passed his trials, she had listened to their story and continued to pursue him across the marred land of the Divide. Seeking truth, perhaps - or maybe to tie up loose ends, end his life for getting in her way._

_This moment had been inevitable. The pain of their past, so very long ago, hung between them but only one of them carried the full burden - the other lucky enough to have had those memories shot out of her skull. He had expected to become another mark in her ledger. After all, she was all fire and no calculation, which hadn't changed since he'd first saw her all those years ago._

__

__

_But he found himself being coaxed by her smooth words, her logic was sound, her voice clear of any rage. He hated it so much, he wanted to destroy her new home as she had destroyed his, reduce it to ash and fire. Above all else, he wanted her to feel everything he felt, all of his resentment and bitterness... but at the moment, he could do nothing but find himself listening. They talked until there was nothing further to say, and he found the weight of their burdens had been lifted with her conviction._

And now, months later, he finds himself sitting on the edge of the cliffs overlooking his land - _their_ land, for who else is around to claim ownership but those who helped in its destruction - and he is left to reflections on his life. A life filled with unresolved rage, now suddenly given the space to breathe. Days turned into weeks, which turned into changing seasons and the cooling of the valley and the fires beneath, yet he paid little heed to the amount of time that had passed. He found himself trying to breathe life back into the valley of the dead, in little ways here and there. Tried to make a home to breathe life into. A home for the rest of his days, however many that may be. 

He did not expect to see her again, had expected her to reclaim the Mojave for herself as he knew she could. Her conviction was too great, her pride too large to submit. She hated the Bear and she hated the Bull, and was not the sort to choose the lesser of two evils. With this understanding, he had resigned himself to let her go, let their chapter of history go. Letting the anger go, as she'd told him so long ago now, the obsessive thoughts of what she'd done and what her actions had awakened in him. Find some peace within himself after so long, find forgiveness. Not just for her, but for Legion, and NCR, and for himself as well. 

In weaker moments, he wondered why he hadn't died in that temple. His road had ended with the Courier and now he couldn't figure out what he has left to do. Tired of learning from history, too tired to look to the future. So he remains overlooking the valley, as a reminder for what he's done, and hopes one day an answer will come knocking.

Which was why a while later, _didn't know how long it'd been_ , seeing her stumbling towards his location - he’d been away from the cliffs, had gone down into the destroyed villages below to find some food - had come as a complete surprise. She was wearing bloodied stolen Legion armor and clutching a disabled eyebot to her chest as she thrashed about deliriously trying to desperately keep her stride. She raised her shaved head and made eye contact with him, wheezed and dropped the eyebot to her feet. From across the terrain he heard her cursing him, " _fucking_ Ulysses,” before collapsing.


	2. and you once said I wish you dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: "The Wolf" by Phildel
> 
> CW - violent character death, gruesome imagery, mentions of rape

_She didn't see anything, could only hear the sounds of drums echoing around her and male voices cackling and sneering at her. The only thing that kept her propelled forward was the hand gripping her arm unkindly, dragging her with it. She tried to memorize every detail, the direction her body would be moving so she could map out paths of escape, tried to find a distinct voice in the crowd but they all sounded foreign. She didn't even know why he decided to put the fucking black bag over her head, it's not like she's never seen Caesars camp before. "Get _real_ ," she had laughed in Vulpes' face as he went to put it over her head. "You boys don't have anything to hide from me. I've been to your camps. I know where you sleep at night." _

__

__

_But he had put it on anyway as she spoke, the last thing she'd seen was his disgustingly smug smile._

_As she was dragged, there was a smell that hit her nose that sent her mind rigid with panic. The same smell that greeted her in Nipton all those months ago. Burning bodies. The black bag was off and she was roughly pushed onto her hands and knees. She had expected to see Caesar in front of her, looking down his nose at her as she lay helpless on the floor. He probably wanted her crawling to him like a Legion dog. But when her eyes rose, there was Boone. Strung up on a cross, surrounded by piles of bodies burning._

_His fingers were almost all gone - torn off - there were deeper cuts across his torso, deliberate stab wounds, and his head hung low. A scream was ripped out of her throat so violently her voice cracked under the pressure. She couldn't look away. She hyper-focused on the drying blood running across his arms, the fresher wounds leaking down his body. The custom combat armor she'd gifted him was torn beyond repair. He wasn't wearing his glasses._

_He was still breathing._ Faintly. _Enough to know he wouldn't be for much longer. She wailed helplessly, her voice now hoarse from exertion, as she desperately began to crawl towards him -_ fuck she had to get to him she had to fix this she had to fucking save him fuck fuck _\- but felt a foot press her back into the dirt._

_"Look at your New Vegas,_ Courier _," Caesar said as he pressed her down. "Look at what you've created. A better life for your friends, wouldn't you say?"_

_As he spoke, the noises leaving her throat stopped but her mouth remained wide in silent screams. All she could do was breathe heavily into the dirt, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to wake up. A memory popped up, of the day she helped him with Bitter Springs. The day they took down a full Legion raiding party practically by themselves. He told her about the first time she showed up in Novac, how he’d seen her and knew he needed to follow her. How he knew if he followed her, death would be following close behind._

_There were no last words. Just the words of the bald man above her, thanking her for handing them the Dam, the shuffling of Legionaries around them as they held back their excitement, and drums._ Drums, drums, drums. _There were no last words from Boone. Just the stink of his bloodied body hanging low._

\---

She screamed as she flew out of bed, feet propelling her forward before her mind could catch up to her. She became aware of hands gripping her tightly, which she thrashed out of like a feral animal. _Boone, Boone, Boone, Boone, she had to fix this she had to get to-_

Then the smells hit her and she stilled. The stink of his body was no longer present as it faded slowly out of her mind, now replaced with a familiar neutral scent. She focused her wild eyes up and found them staring into the dark eyes of Ulysses. He was a hard man to read behind that mask but she could see in his eyes he was... Surprised. She instantly relaxed, breathing deeply, realizing belatedly that the adrenaline had completely knocked the existing dehydration right out of her, if only for that moment. Now it was back, more painful than before as it mercilessly throbbed. She almost collapsed but he had already helped her back into her bed.

"Water, please..."

He had some purified pressed to her lips a moment later, which she greedily drank down. Breathing deeply through her nose as she drank, she looked around her to discover they were in a house, probably somewhere in Hopeville. There were still walls around them, and a roof, with old world decorations. Across the room from the bed, which was a larger bed than she was used to, there was a work bench where ED-E lay resting. Then she looked back at the larger man in front of her expectantly. 

"Fixed you up. Tried fixing the machine. Woke up before I could."

She finished drinking and sighed deeply, adjusting in the bed only to feel the damp cloth she was wearing soaking her in the most uncomfortable way. Six realized then that she was still in these fucking stolen Legion skirts. "Got any clothes that would fit me?" He got up again to go retrieve some. She called after him as she rest her arm over her eyes to block out the light in the room, "if you bring me a pre-war dress I'm going to strangle you in your sleep."

He didn't say anything, but of course he wouldn't. He returned with a folded pair of black pants and a white tank top.

She lowered her arm to squint her eyes at him and what he'd brought her, before deciding it would do and accepted his offering.

She slowly rose as he walked to the other side of the room to futz with ED-E again, giving her privacy. She tenderly peeled the caked Legion armor off her and surveyed his needle-work of her wounds. Not bad for a non-professional, but then again of course he would be good at this. 

Once completely stripped, Courier Six used the rest of the water she'd been drinking to gently rinse off the blood from her arms, torso, and breasts. She cleaned herself enough to not soak her new shirt with blood of unknown origin, pulled it over her head and set about pulling on her pants, eyes never leaving Ulysses back. 

It wasn't that she didn't trust him, she reasoned, but she also couldn't find an alternative reason why she needed to make sure he didn't look at her. 

When he heard the sound of her getting back into bed he turned towards her and regarded her. Their eyes met and she looked away, focusing on sitting up, brow furrowed.

"So. Legion won."

When she finally looked back up at him she found him studying her and saying nothing in acknowledgement. If he was surprised, he didn't look it. "Held my own for a bit but was captured."

"How long?" The thick gravely baritone of his voice echoed across the room. She lowered her eyes. Didn't want him to find something in them. "About 7 or 8 months, give or take."

He didn't say anything to that, just stared at her in contemplation. Then he stepped towards where she was propped up in bed, tentatively reached for her wrist, as if she would bite him for moving any quicker or less careful. She let him turn her slightly so he could see a portion of the proof, she moved her strap down so she could say she did it herself. Six knew what was there, had caught glimpses of it on other girls and would never forget the feeling of being carved into with purpose. A giant swollen X.

He had let her wrist go at this point, not unkindly. Took a step back, but not in revulsion. "Vulpes."

It wasn't a question and so she let her silence be answer enough. "Hard to kill, Courier. Hard to tie down. Someone puts a bullet in you and you get back up, someone tries caging you and you claw your way out. But I want to know the how of it."

Six winced, should she tell him or wait until she’s feeling better? The words 'fuck it' floated through her head, as was common for her. She looked him dead in the eyes as she made her confession. "The how of it is that I cut Caesars fat head from his fat neck."

Once the truth escaped her mouth, she couldn't help the small smile forming on her lips as she remembered the feeling of sawing into flesh. _His_ flesh. Not a week after the moment she thought she had given up and resigned herself to her fate. But this honest satisfaction was quickly replaced with a feeling of guilt over what had happened next, what happened _after_ she'd allowed herself a moment of indulgence, so she omitted that part of the story and told him that she'd swam across the river and ran practically straight here, details left unsaid. 

"Need protection, Ulysses." She forced the admission out through a tightened throat, her eyes now cast down in shame. "I know you used to be Legion, and you respected Caesar, and this is asking a lot because I don't know for how long... but I was almost gone there," she winces at the rawness of her emotion, "I have to rest and there isn't a safer place in all of the Mojave. Not now that Legion won. I... Need your help."

There was a slight pause before he shifted, turned his back to her - her heart sunk so low in her chest for all the reasons she refused to admit - but only for him to grab some food resting on the table across the room and offering it to her. "It's fresh, cooked it earlier. Eat some."

She understood what he meant and let out a sigh she didn't even know she'd been holding. _I'll help._

 

\---

Six woke from another dream. A nagging behind her ear knew it had been about _him_ , and she felt her entire body sinking into the floor from the weight of that truth, but she couldn't remember what had happened in that dream. Deciding it was best not to, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stepped outside of the tattered house, finding Ulysses there just past the door. He'd built a fire, the ebb and flow of its light dancing across the frown set on his mask-less face. 

This was the first time she'd seen him without it and frankly it was... Not as she'd expected him to look. Maybe it was just because she'd grown accustomed to not seeing his mouth that its presence seemed so foreign. He had pleasing features, and in another life he could have been a real lady killer. But she chuckled to herself as she approached him and she let the thought linger; in another life she could have been lucky. Sure as shit wasn't in this life, so it didn't matter.

He looks at her then and she half expects him to cover his face again. She sits down, gives him the courtesy of not gaping outright at him, and gazes up at the stars visible above what she now recognizes as Hopeville. 

A contented silence passes over them, before she feels him wanting to speak. "Were you seen?" She looks at him, trying to understand what he's saying. His lips move slightly, as if chewing through how to phrase it delicately, "when you cut off the Bulls head, when you swam the river."

Her legs curled towards her torso now, she pressed chin to knees meekly and stared into the open flame. "I must have been. They tracked me down, just outside of the path leading to the Divide..." 

_  
Bullets sped past her, one slamming into her leg. She had one stimpak and two vials of med-x she’d salvaged off a dead NCR ranger. She was in bad shape, exhaustion and the throbbing in her head making her kills sloppy._

_Through the gunfire, she heard the leader of the assassin party calling out to her. “We’re taking you back alive, whore. And death will not save you 'til Lanius sees fit.” As if on queue, the thump of ED-E’s body falling made her entire being go into auto-pilot. She’d come too far to submit now.  
_

“... ED-E got hurt in the attack, so I had to carry him here. I didn’t turn around to see if any of the ones that survived followed me." She looked up again and tried to relieve the tension that seemed stuck in the air since he'd opened his mouth, "hence why I stumbled in here lookin’ like a crazy person. Must have been a little frightening."

He hummed in agreement, "Frightening, no. Surprising, however... you wearing stolen clothes, looking worn down. Never thought you'd walk this road again. Thought, since you can't remember, you'd try to put some distance between it. Start a new life. Look to the future."

The what-could-have-been’s stung her every now and then, and hearing him verbalizing it didn't sting any less. She had been so naive and stupid. Was told countless times never to underestimate the enemy. Six exhaled the breath she didn't realize she was holding, feeling the sting of it. She had been cocky and now she was paying the price. Ulysses observed her a moment before turning to rummage through his bag, filled with what she assumed were weapons. 

She watched him pull out a shotgun and hand it to her. "They'll be coming for you, Courier. The Bull. Killed Caesar, cut off the Legions head, and they'll want your head in return. Not even Vulpes will be able to keep you alive, for all his depravity." She winced at the poorly concealed resentment he carried for _his_ name but didn't break eye contact as she accepted his gift, making a mental note to ask about their history later. "NCR was spread too thin, got too careless, and that was their undoing, as all who looked long enough could see. So too will Legion." He paused, looked off into the distance, "By my reckoning, the Legion will fall within the year and it will be swift. Keep yourself alive long enough to outlast it." 

She furrowed her brow. "Legion is not leaderless, though. There was a whole line of succession waiting for the day Caesar would die, practically panting for it." He hummed, thick and gravely. "You know as well as I do that Lanius does not have the mind to lead. All he sees and breathes is carnage. Without Caesar, Legion will fall. I've told you once before, before the Dam. That great big wall. Bull will spread West and turn on itself. History will be repeated, and neither you nor I will have a say in that." 

She cast her eyes down to get lost in the flames. "If that's true then I guess what you said was right... About Legion eventually falling to the Dam, just... Not how we expected,” That nagging voice behind her ear told her that he was right about a lot of things, especially the part about death following her wherever she went. _Let’s not open that can of worms._ “Seems everyone did. Land must be cursed." An acknowledging grunt from the peanut gallery, but right before he opened his mouth to give a thought out response, a distant sound of snapping echoed across the expanse of the ghost town. She looked up at him startled before whirling around, her entire mind hyper-focused on everything at once. After a considerable few minutes, when she was pretty sure it was just her mind screwing with her, she let herself relax her shoulders, even if her mind was not at ease.

She turned back to him to find he’d been watching all of her reactions. He didn't say anything, let the silence hang as he studied her, and she suddenly felt very sheepish. He and Graham were the only people who had ever intimidated her. Even when she was a nameless Courier back before she hit the streets of Freeside, she didn't fear anyone or care about opinions. Something about that thick skull of hers made it so she walked through life fearless - at least the parts of life that she could remember - but Ulysses' intensity always knocked her down a peg. She wanted to ask him in a million ways one question that had been plaguing her since she woke up… but she refused to ask it. Almost all of her pride had been beaten and forcibly fucked out of her, but there was something she still clung to. Tried crawling back to. It was that fire in her belly. 

"It will take time, Courier." She hated that he knew. Six fixed her eyes on the burning wood before her, deciding it was her turn to let the silence hang.


	3. fat bloody fingers sucking your soul away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: "Rabbit in your Headlights" by UNKLE
> 
> Sorry for the delay, to make up for it I have a very LONG chapter! Or, at least long comparative to what I usually post.
> 
> Onto more serious matters - I originally wasn't going to be very descriptive about this, and I'm definitely not going into absolute detail as that's a little too much for me, but this is definitely more descriptive than I had intended originally, so I will be adding another content warning. 
> 
> THIS CHAPTER IS EXTREMELY GRUESOME AND DEPICTS VIOLENCE, SLAVERY, RAPE, AND MANIPULATION.
> 
> Wheew, this was heavy. I promise the next chapter is lighter.

Once she had fully recovered to the point where she could move around without getting winded, Six had proceeded to busy herself by finishing ED-E’s repairs as Ulysses went off… wherever he usually goes. Wouldn’t really say but she didn’t want to ask and presume they were close; he was doing her a favor by helping her. He didn’t even fight it, just seemed to accept her into his space, which was frankly surprising to her. She owed him a great deal for this, and staying out of his hair would have to be thanks enough for now.

This routine worked well for them; of him leaving during the day while she repaired anything she could get her hands on, and him returning in the evening with more medicine and food. It worked until a few days after she’d finished wiring up ED-E and fixing every one of Ulysses guns, when she realized she had literally nothing left to do. She started picking at her nails and peeling apart the flesh of her plump lips - a nasty habit of hers she picked up at some point which left her already chapping lips bloody and dried out. She knew she was going stir crazy sitting in this house, and the constant looking out the window during the day anticipating the next attack wasn't doing her any wonders either. She needed to get the _fuck_ out of here. When Ulysses got back home that evening, Six swallowed her fear of stepping on his toes and pleaded for him to give her something to do, for them to go somewhere. She felt like she looked pretty out of her skull, and it didn't help that the colorful words tumbling out of her were "give me something to do before I fucking claw my eyes out." He'd chided her, telling her that was unnecessary and wouldn't resolve her situation, clearly enjoying this newfound layer of her personality at her expense. After she’d appeared adequately annoyed, he'd blessedly relented, deciding to teach her survival skills. "Twisted Hairs had medicine they would give to mothers, deal with the pain and anxieties of birth. Has numbing properties stronger than the Med-X... Been trying to find the ingredients, most scattered around the Divide. Could use help finding them, collecting them. Could teach you our recipe."

And with that, the plan was set. ED-E followed behind her dutifully, with Ulysses leading the way ahead. They crouched and salvaged the remainder of Hopeville, areas she had left behind on her first walk through the burnt ghost town. In a rare moment of luck, she'd found a pack that she must have missed her first time around, with a lightly used set of combat armor secured inside. Ulysses scouted ahead as she changed into it, now more ready to get shot at than she'd been previously. Only weapons she had on her was Caesar's displacer glove, the riot shotgun Ulysses had gifted her that night around the campfire, and what she now deemed her favorite knife. The knife itself was nothing special, but she would savor the moment she cut through flesh and bone with it - Caesar's flesh and bone - for the rest of her days. She'd _had_ a sub-machine gun, before she was ambushed on the way into the Divide. Unfortunately, she’d lost it in the confusion, was too exhausted to kick herself at that point for being such a fuck up.

Once she was ready to go, new gear all suited up, they continued on through the collapsed tunnels. Once they had dropped down into the cool, still air of the wreckage, Ulysses paused and let her know he was having some reservations about throwing her back into combat, wanted to make sure she was ready. She could see the slight concern passing his features, though guarded as ever behind a mask of indifference and calculation, as he proposed she do some target practice before they continued onto the High Road where he knew there had been an increase in activity. "No use bringing you along if you're going to get killed the minute we hit a group of Marked Men," he had reasoned. The implication that she wasn't ready for actual combat wounded her pride a bit and she found herself resenting him for it, but the logical part of her brain made her swallow it down and agree. There were some Tunnelers up ahead once they had bypassed the familiar pieces of rubble, which she supposed would have to do. She pulled out the shotgun, inched her way towards them doing her best to be as invisible as possible, and once she was within firing range she unloaded into one's head. The recoil was powerful in her arms, familiar comforts for her, and she found herself making quick work of them. 

She continued on, leading the way for a bit with ED-E and Ulysses on her six, making sure there were no surprises. Another, larger group lay before them, which proved more challenging as she had unloaded onto a good portion just in time for the remaining two to get a jump on her as she began reloading. _Shit_ , she cursed internally as she hissed at the pain of one clawed hand nicking her older wounds, the ones that were still raw and healing that Ulysses had tended to while she slept. She beat the closest one back with the brunt of her weapon, and as it staggered back she fended off the other, trying to focus on reloading. Once the familiar click rang out, she unloaded into the remaining two and let out the breath she had been unknowingly holding. She didn't look at Ulysses, didn't want to see if she'd passed his little test, didn't care, just kept walking as she discreetly applied a stimpak to her wounds. 

After making it up onto the High Road, she found to her dismay that a group of Marked Men had re-occupied the small camp next to the commissary. Ulysses thick graveled tone was suddenly in her ear and she tried her best not to jump, "Marked Men from the Courier’s Mile, trying to find the one responsible, finding their way to familiar places. We could use their supplies." She nodded and reloaded her shotgun before making her way towards them. Six got the jump on them but had not anticipated the missile launcher the one farthest from her had been packing. One flew by her head, and the noise of it disoriented her. She crouched behind a pillar as she heard Ulysses and ED-E firing at them and tried to focus on steadying herself. Something she'd already tried forgetting was resurfacing at the noise, it wasn't even the same kind but it was enough. 

One marked man jumped out in front of where she'd been crouched, ready with a thermic lance, and it sent her into such a strange autopilot that she didn't have time to process what was happening. She had thrown down her shotgun and was beating him with just her fists, disabling the Marked Man just as she'd done to Benny all those months ago, punching him until all that was left was paste where the red burn of his face used to be. Eventually, it was quiet, save the squelching sounds echoing below her and the strange noises coming from her throat, and she felt strong hands grabbing her arms to get her to stop. Her vision finally focused then, she knew who was holding her and resisted the need to break free of his grip, instead stilling. A moment passed, of a pregnant stillness and her panting breaths as she regained composure. Then they pressed on, with no acknowledgment of what had just happened.

-

As they continued for some time, they saw an influx of Deathclaws up ahead, more than either of them had ever seen on this highway. Ulysses quietly postulated beside her as they crouched low that this was also due to the Courier's Mile. They decided to camp up in the Crow’s Nest until the Deathclaws would move on. Six didn't have her sleeping bag with her anymore - was probably back at the Fort where all her other hard-earned gear lay for Legion boys to futz with - so they resolved to take shifts so they wouldn't have to share the bed. She was aware she didn't hide her relief very well, or maybe he just intuitively knew, she couldn't tell. 

They ate in silence, his eyes cast down at his food while she considered him, examined the way his mouth looked as he chewed. 

She finished eating before him and went to change out of her combat armor and back into the tank top and black pants, settling in to take the first shift for the night. She pretended she didn’t feel the eyes on her back as she changed out of the top portions of her armor but knew he must have been looking at the ugly scar again, was the only reason why his gravely voice cut through the silence, “Who helped you escape?”

She froze, then lowered the lighter shirt all the way down and steeled up her nerve. “A slave named Siri.” Her words sounded cold in her ears, like she was far away somewhere north. 

He sat in silence, seemingly waiting for her to continue. She surveyed the horizon and sat back in her spot to tell him a... watered down version of the story.

\-----

That first night he had left her with a swollen face and neck, she could feel the red scratch marks he’d left running across her body. She lay on her back looking emptily up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what had happened to her last night.  
  
_“For such a vulgar profligate, you’re quite pleasing to look at. I will have to thank my lord again for such a gift.” The instant his hand rests on her face, thumb faintly touching the plumpness of her bottom lip, she violently gnashed her teeth at his quickly retreating hand. A blow to her jaw so sudden she staggered back, almost losing her footing entirely. All she felt was pain in her face, it felt like he’d slapped her jaw clean off. She pressed her fingers firmly into it to make sure it wasn’t dislocated, felt a popping, and looked back at him with all the venom she could and spit out what she hoped was just blood, before managing to tell him, “Fuck you Legion whore.”_  
  
Her limbs were in a state of numb, overexerted dull pain and her insides felt like they were going to fall out between her legs. Caesar had designated her to be Vulpes’ personal slave, which she was told was a high honor and that she should be more grateful he didn’t just send her to the dogs. Their multiple voices telling her so made her want to violently puke, _sounds like an evolved form of grooming your victim but ok._

The tent flap swung open, which actually caused her to scoot as far away as possible in fear that he had returned - then promptly kicked herself for showing that kind of reaction to whoever walked through the door - only to look up and see a familiar woman before her.

“... Siri, right?” 

The taller woman offered her a small, exhausted smile, “Yes, I brought you some food. While you are Vulpes’ slave I’ll be the one to bring you your meals and medicine.” 

Six leaned up in the bed and tried to move enough so her feet could touch the floor, but couldn’t. Siri came to her side and began rubbing healing powder on the open cuts. Six tried to think of things to talk about, she’d only spoken with Siri before in passing back before her showdown with Benny, and even then the woman was very demure and didn’t speak much.  
“Do you do this for all Legion’s personal slaves?” Siri was focused on applying the medicine but still answered gently, “Only for Caesars inner circle. Lucius, Octavian’s, and Vulpes’ are the only ones I directly deal with usually. Eventually, you’ll meet them, Raja belongs to Lucius and Sam is one of Octavius’ favorites. They’ve both been here a little longer than you have.” 

Six's gaze lowered and focused on the way the rug below them looked. “Will I be meeting Vulpes other slaves as well?” 

That made Siri shift to fully look at her, a puzzled look on your face. “Vulpes doesn’t have more than one female slave at a time…” Six winced and looked away. Siri’s arms dropped as she weighed something on her mind for quite some time. “I think I should tell you something…” she started hesitantly, before rubbing her hands together and looking back to the front entrance to make sure no one was there, “when you came into the Fort that first time, you were a free woman who showed me kindness, and in return I want to keep you aware... so you are prepared for what’s going to come.” Six looked her in the eyes at that and nodded for her to continue, “Every girl Vulpes has brought into this camp as his slave, they… don’t last very long. I don’t know what he does to them, I’ve never had to serve him like that, but I had to give them food every day and I would see them… changing…” 

Six continued looking at her but her mind had checked out of the conversation, imagining him doing what he did to her last night and how it could possibly be worse. “You are a strong and resilient person, everyone around here talks about it, and I think he’ll want to break that… they all do...” Siri didn’t finish the sentence, but the way she looked at Six on that last note was entirely an unspoken message. _Don’t let him._

After a long pause, Six nodded. “Thank you.” An exhausted smile was the response, wearier now, as she continued to apply the powder and they fell in contented silence until Siri left.

-

That night when he returns, she is held down on her belly as he carves into her back. It’s the first time she’s shown fear, and unfortunately, she catches Vulpes eye. He _knows_ , and the knowledge of it spreads his smile wider. 

-

Time was funny when you haven’t had a Pip-Boy to check the date, or be outside for too long each day to see the subtle changing in seasons. Every day was exactly the same as the next; Siri would come in and drop off her food and medicine, Six would try to sleep more but would end up taking time to herself, staring up at her tent and reflecting for a while, planning ways to escape, and then she would go get him water to draw his bath from the river, surrounded by Legion guards. They were no longer in any part of the Mojave she could recognize, she knew they had expanded beyond the region, probably headed somewhere more west. The river was very large and looked familiar, but she couldn't place why. As she would fill up the buckets of water, she would take an extended gluttonous pause looking out over the water expanding beyond sight, imagining herself crossing it one day. Tearing her eyes away from it killed her a little each time, but she had to be smart if she was ever going to get out of here. She couldn't just try escaping in the light of day, with no idea what lay beyond, so she kept her impulses at bay.

Vulpes would come in an hour or so after she'd finished preparing his bath, and depending on his mood and the outcome of his day he would either graciously accept, pretend they were domestic and that she’d had a choice, and coax her to join him with cooing words of devotion and praise. _"You're so much more pleasing in these moments when you submit to me." "You're exquisite." "You are_ mine."

Or, he would brutally beat her into submission and fuck her and leave her there while he enjoyed the bath himself. Sometimes it would be a blend of both. Sometimes he would _make things exciting_ by coming up with new ways to force her body to contort into painful positions, or force her release, or degrade her and remind her of those they had killed who were her friends. He spoke of looking forward to raping Veronica, and Cass, and Julie. He spoke of his desire to never let her go, to never let her escape him through death because he needed her too much. 

She knew what this was though. There was an underlying, unspoken truth between them, and even if Siri hadn't warned her, she would have caught it quickly. 

He likes to break his things for the sake of breaking them and she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. No matter what hell he would put her through, she would not relent. She would be nasty and scathing and insulting and crude whenever she was given any opportunity. And when she wasn’t, when she knew he was getting off on her insolence too much, she would go days being absolutely silent.

One such day, after several hours of defiant silence, probably months into this monotonous torture - and she doesn’t know how he’d found them - but he came in dressed like Boone. Wore his glasses and his beret, with a similar white shirt and those commando pants she’d first met him in. Even tried to mimic his voice as he pressed himself into her, not letting her close her eyes as he raped her in missionary - an irregular position for them, with all _his_ clothes still on. He wanted her to see his face. 

She wouldn’t let herself cry until she knew he was asleep. To make a noise would deconstruct all her plans and she couldn't let him know he was breaking her, wouldn't even admit it to herself fully, so she wept without a sound. Afterward, when her breathing grew more controlled, she examined the way his glowing pale white arms contrasted with her olive skin - thrown haphazardly across her breasts in mock affection. As she hyper-focused on the contrasting tones, she wondered in spite of all the literature and folktales she vaguely recalled from a life long gone, if the devil was a pale man. 

-

 _"May there be... a hell for you... a Tartarus... Bleak and unending..."_

Robert House's final words floated through her mind as she pretended to sleep. Was this hell? 

-

As she begins to teach herself how to tell the changing seasons by the shifting of the moon, a trick she was always told existed but never learned for herself, she is given a surprising request at what she imagines is five months into her capture. Caesar has instructed him to bring her to him at the earliest convenience. As Vulpes tells her, recanting the details, she can see the absolute venom he has for the entire situation. "You will do as he commands, and you will not step out of line. My lord is not well these days and over-exerting him would be..." the knife glides down her throat, "... unwise. Your insolence does not extend beyond this tent, do you understand?" 

She nods, and the next day is brought before him, escorted there by Vulpes. She notices the different layout of the tent, much more spaced out to accommodate his luxurious lifestyle than the previous tent had been. Skinned animals strung around the floors and the furniture and the war tables, she couldn’t decipher what kinds of animals they were, contrasting with the creams and gold and red hues of the decor. Caesar sat on a large throne, relaxed as someone who had achieved a mighty goal was oft to be. 

“Leave us. She will return later tonight.”

Six resolved to continue her fire, staring directly at him and not wavering. She recalled something Arcade had told her a while back before the Dam when dealing with NCR suits, _fake it ‘til you make it, kiddo,_ as in “please play nice we need to pretend a little bit that we don’t have secret agendas,” and while she’d failed back then, she tried to do him proud by owning it right now when she needed it most. It seemed to fool Caesar, who waited until she figured they were both alone before speaking up. “You’ve proven to be the biggest pain in my ass ever since you began walking the Mojave, and even after sending my best man on the job to put you in your fucking place, you’re still a pain in my ass.” 

She felt herself smiling but didn’t feel anything inside, “You sound almost proud.”

“I am.” She looked back up at him, trying to hide her confusion. “Congratulations, courier. Despite your inferiority, I’m offering you a chance to do more than just tending to our dear Inculta.”

At this, he rose from his throne and walked past her to a shelf on the far corner of the tent, filled to the brim with books. “When was the last time you read a book, courier?” 

Silence hung between them as she tried to survey what was happening. “... the fuck is this?”

He chuckled lowly, “Spoken like a profligate. Have you ever gotten your hands on an old world book? Have you ever read the likes of Plato, and Virgil, and Pliny the Elder?”

She just stared at him, like he’s out of his mind, before finding her voice “Too busy trying not to die” “But you can read, surely. You were shot in the head but you seem to be cognizant enough to string sentences together.” “Yes, _asshole_ , I can read.”

He didn’t acknowledge the insult, grabbed a book and brought it to her. “Well that’s a relief, maybe you’ll still be of use to us after all,” she took it from him, reading the title _The Conquest of Gaul._

As she ran her fingers over the title, he sat back down across from her. “I’m fucking tired of dealing with people who don't question me. Lanius is the only one who doesn’t kiss the ground I walk on, but even his intellect has limits. I’m offering you to come to me during the day, when Inculta is busy as is, to engage with me and argue with me about anything you’d like to discuss." 

She couldn’t stop her mouth, the situation was too alien. “That lonely you have to stoop to talking to a slave, huh?”

He frowned but didn’t seem as nearly as offended as he pretended, “I’m offering you an alternative to sitting on your ass all day and waiting to be useful. If you’re too incompetent to recognize a lifeline when it presents itself to you, Inculta is doing a better job than I expected.” She scoffed, “What kind of lifeline is that? You’ve been sitting pretty up on her high horse for too long, books don’t mean shit to someone trying not to die.” He shrugged, indifferent. “Suit yourself. Keep the book, read it, and you let Inculta know if you change your mind. Would be nice for you to interact with more than just two people every day, don’t you think?” 

-

She wasn’t going to do it, the book sat across from the bed on the desk tauntingly, but eventually, after biting her lip raw anticipating Vulpes' return, she picked it up and began reading.

-

The book was written by present day, Mojave Wasteland Caesar’s namesake, about old Caesar’s conquests across places called Britain and Holland and Germany. It’s hard for her to imagine the earth being so big, that there’s a world outside of the Mojave and it’s surrounding regions, all that she will probably never see in her whole life. When she finishes reading, she puts it down and stares at the gold binding and loses herself in the thought of her future. Vulpes is away for the next few days, told her he was doing reconnaissance as if she gave a shit, so tonight she sits by herself and is so lost in staring out into space that she doesn’t sleep until the sun rises the next day. 

_What if I die here?_

-

She hates that she gives in after only a few days and accepts this deal, but what’s really the alternative? He seems to expect her when she comes back in. He seems pleased.

-

Six will never admit this to a soul... but since her memories had been shot out of her, she doesn’t know if she was a virgin before that first night with Vulpes, and all the nights since. She then wonders if it matters anyway.

She decides to redact most of these details when she tells Ulysses about her months of capture. She redacts any information about the nature of what Vulpes would do behind a closed tent. He probably already understands the nature of her and Vulpes relationship, so she doesn’t need to retell that sob story. She doesn’t even tell him about her and Caesars sessions, but between pauses in the story, they come rushing back to her.

-

Six hates herself for it, but she comes to enjoy visiting Caesar’s tent during the day. He treats her with the same course tone he always has, but there’s a level of respect present. Even though she is a slave he never tells her to do anything or asks her to serve him in any capacity. A small part of her still feels dirty, like she’s still being used even if it’s not painful or really unpleasant. He is just a stubborn lonely old man who doesn’t know what to do with himself now that he’s obtained so much power. 

They argue over everything, especially topics focusing on slavery and women, at Six’s behest. It gets so heated sometimes than she’s convinced one day he will strike her, or have a brain aneurysm, or send her away, but he never does. When they are in his tent, she is treated like a general as they discuss a hypothetical battle strategy and she brings up human rights again because she doesn’t care anymore. But then, there's a part of her that does care. And feels a sense of gratitude to him for showing her kindness, even if it's disguised in layers of snark.

He lets her come and go from his tent as she pleases, a sharp contrast to Vulpes’ orders for her to only leave when relieving herself or retrieving his bath water. She finally meets Raja and Sam, the slaves Siri had previously told her about, and they are tired but still pleasant to her because they understand. It’s an unspoken understanding that hangs over their shoulders, the weight of their scars. 

Raja is a little taller and a little thinner than Siri, with dark skin and darker hair cropped short in a pixie cut. Sam has red hair and pale skin and reminds Six too much of Cass, even down to the tone of her voice. Apparently, Octavius is lecherous and will sleep with any and every slave, often at the same time, so this gives Sam some down time to do chores. Meanwhile, Raja is treated as well as any slave would be that is a single person’s property, but according to her she is never marked or assaulted, which makes the weight on Six’s neck welts feel heavier. She suddenly realizes how poorly she has had it in comparison, and she catches Siri's eye as she thinks the woman understands.

The routine picks up for her, it becomes a small comfort in the clingiest way possible that she entirely judges herself for, but anything is better than what she faces in the nights. 

-

Soon, the bad begins to outweigh the good, and she desperately tries to cling to the constants in her life that don’t end in pain. She hates that she is relying on one of her captors for anything, but she feels almost… dependent on those moments when she isn’t being tortured.

Something is not right, and she feels it in her gut. Caesar is still acting the same with her, same cordiality and pleasantness, while Vulpes' is getting increasingly worse. She is too tired from everything to understand why. She thinks of the river and longs for freedom. 

-

Caesar is busy for an extended period and Vulpes is all she sees for an entire week. He has come up with new ways to make her scream, ways she never thought were possible, levels of pain she thought she’d already reached. The absence of a reprieve makes this all the more unbearable, and she nearly gives in at one point, surrendering and submitting herself just to make it stop.

She is becoming starved for kindness and every night now she sits awake, feeling like she is out of her mind. The pain never stops and she is desperate. Could she cross the river? She's too tired to hope. 

-

When Siri comes in the next morning, Six finally asks about the river. The woman had frozen in place and looked at the shorter girl, new welts across her neck. “You can’t talk like that,” Siri said quietly, _too dangerous._ Six kept pushing though, every day after. Asking about the nature of the water, what actually happens to girls who get caught, any piece of information. Siri pretended she didn’t hear Six and walked away. 

-

She must have been heard. She knows it wasn't Siri, it couldn't be, but she fucking kicks herself because she should have known her mouth would make it worse for her, should have known not to say those things so loudly. She had let her fucking guard down and now… 

So much can change in a week. Or even just two days. 

A hell... A Tartarus... 

-

A small part of her hoped that the sentence would be lighter for her because he seemed, in the past few months, to really value her as a person. That small deluded part that had been going crazy without human contact, without kindness, and thought that Caesar would show mercy. 

But then she saw the two crosses, and she knew.

-

It was all a fucking _joke_. A fucking good cop/bad cop routine, and she'd fallen right into it. 

She never knew he could do something like this. She had foolishly underestimated him, had placed a comfort in him, believing that he himself never kept slaves so he never participated in these kinds of Legion activities. But here he was, taking her violently, with others waiting their turn for the spoils.

She had considered him a companion. 

Now, she was on the outside looking in at what they were doing to her body, and she felt empty. 

-

“Wake up, courier.”

Her glassy eyes painfully opened as feeling returned to her entire body, she felt the full weight of herself hanging from the chains and whimpered. Couldn’t form words for the darker woman before her. 

“I’ve heard whispers all morning and wanted to see if you were alright - now I know they’re true,” she paused, struggling with the sigh that came out of her throat, “I should have known, I’m…” 

Six looked at her emptily. Sorry? She didn’t want her fucking sorry. _Take your fucking pity to Raja and Sam and all the other girls that have died slaves, I don’t need it,_ she thought angrily. She’d wanted to get out and the woman before her had rejected her idea. _Too dangerous._ And now it was too late. Maybe Siri picked up on this train of thought, or instinctively knew how Six felt as she hung, beaten and battered because she let the word hang between them unspoken.

“I’ve done some digging, the river is connected to the Colorado that runs through New Vegas,” her voice sounded so sure and terrified all at once, the ends of her sentences shook with her, “I think we can make it work, escaping, but we have to wait a little longer. Vulpes and Caesar are leaving in two weeks to meet the Legate back at the Dam, it will give us a window of opportunity to go. You just… need to hold out longer.”

Six couldn’t help it, hot angry tears leaped to her eyes as her resistance to the idea surged in her throat. She shook her head and whimpered softly at the stiff pain in her neck. She was going to black out again soon, could feel it. Siri was getting blurry. 

“No you have to, it’ll be ok. I’ll leave you a little more water in the mornings. Here,” Six felt the faintest touch that seemed like it wasn’t even on her skin, tilting her swollen face up. Water slid down her throat and she almost gagged. “Keep your head down a little more for the next few weeks, do as he says, and regain your strength. We’ll take our window of opportunity… I have to go, I’m actually not supposed to bring you food today.” She got up but then came back over to whisper in her ear, “there’s a knife under your mattress. It’s a promise of our freedom, ok? Just… hold out a little longer.”

And with that she’s gone. Six whimpers at the things she couldn’t say, _I don’t want to hold out longer, I just want to die._

Instead she lets herself properly, loudly cry for the last time that she’s a slave.

-

Of course, the plans were slightly altered when Caesar had relented that he wasn’t feeling up for the trip and had sent Vulpes and Lucius off while he stayed behind in the quasi-emptier encampment. Of course, he’d wanted Six’s company. Because this was just how things worked for Six. She made the impulsive decision of holding the knife under her arm as she walked to Caesar’s tent. 

After tonight, this isn’t going to happen again, she told herself. _This will be the last time a man will touch you,_ whether the escape is successful or she ends up dying along the way. _Never again_. She thought of Raja and Sam. They had died resisting. They had died because of her foolishness and trust improperly placed. This was for them, and for Boone. _And for me_ , a small voice tried to say but she wouldn’t give the thought much space to breathe. 

Caesar had her disrobe in front of him, somehow she had still hidden the knife in the garb as she pulled it over her head and bunched it up to hide it.

Caesar was in a foul mood, his headaches were getting worse, but apparently, orgasms relieved that feeling, so it didn’t last long before he was off to sleep.

With a patience she didn’t realize she’d possessed, she slowly crept away from his sleeping body, long since numb to the pain between her legs, and walked over to the pile her slave garb made on the floor. 

-

Caesar woke to find her straddling his chest naked, wild ravenous look in her eyes as she pressed the dull blade as hard as she could, literally hacking into the meat of his neck. 

She coos softly above him, “Give the devil my regards.” 

They didn’t even sound like her words but they came out of her amidst the sounds of his choking, neck gushing blood, before all was silent.

-

Siri had been waiting for her at their rendezvous point and upon her arrival, about 20 minutes late stared at her wide eyed as she approached, face and arms caked in blood. They still had to climb through the fence and look as inconspicuous as possible - which was now exceptionally difficult, especially because one of the guards was back from his routine bathroom breaks. Six didn’t register she had explained herself but apparently, she had felt herself speak, as Siri nodded grimly, worried look set firmly on her face. Six knew she didn’t want to go through with this anymore, could read it all over her face, but didn’t bring it up so their plan went forward. 

Of course, they were spotted right as soon as they began to climb through the shallow portion of the hole in the gate, which they already could barely fit through. Siri was ahead of Six but waited for her to get through as well, Legion wolves biting at her feet as the camp was alarmed before Six finally made it through and they both took off in a sprint. They ran so fast, the only thing they could do is focus on their breathing and making it to the water. Six, more nimble despite months of capture, was soon slightly ahead of Siri when a booming rang out around the canyon, followed by the sickening sound of a person exploding resonated behind her.

\---

Six paused, swallowed the thick lump in her throat. Talking about what was done to her was easy because what was done to her makes up for a lifetime of pigheaded ego and piss poor mistakes, but her throat clenched around the weakness she felt. 

“I didn’t… turn around. I couldn’t. I was the cause of this, all this chaos, and I was too weak to look at what I did. I just swam. I swam so fucking hard. Hours passed by before I reached a place where I could catch my breath, rest my arms.”

She didn’t dare look up, the whole time she’d been so focused on the fire in front of them as she spoke. Silence hung between them, but she felt no pressure to change the subject and she knew he was still giving her the floor to speak. “I… I had been dreaming of crossing that river for so long. It seemed so easy. It was right over those fences that kept us in, the water was just out of my reach... Ever since I was shot I’ve put down Legion men like flies, I’d killed Mr. House with no hesitation - like a business transaction. I was the great Courier fucking Six, but I was not strong enough to cross it without leaving a trail of innocents behind me.”

“No use blaming yourself for her death, Courier.” It was the first time he’d spoken in hours, had been intently listening the whole time, and she frowned at him, “No, there is. You told me yourself, I carry death with me, wherever I go. Her death was on me. Their deaths, all of them. I could have fucking done it on my own, without her help, I could have snuck out of his tent without killing him, let go of my fucking vengeance complex for _one minute of my life_ , and we would have been on fucking time. This is _absolutely_ my fault.” He shook his head at her, “None of that matters now. If you let this hang over your head you will drown yourself in your regret. What you do is learn from your mistakes, learn from your history. You taught me that, so long ago now. One of the messages you carried to me. You learned after you walked this road, you learned after the Dam, and now you will learn from Siri.”

Hearing her name come from his voice was absolutely odd to her and she winced at it. “When will it be enough, Ulysses? When will people dying all around me be enough for me to fucking get it?” His eyes, so intense and dark, pierced hers as he told her plainly, with all the patience in the world. “It’s enough when you decide it’s enough.”

She wanted to fight him, a knee-jerk reaction, but the meaning behind it hit her. As she had laid under the stars that first night, drenched in lake water and shivering, a free woman for the first time in months, she couldn’t celebrate. She just lay on the ground, staring up into the sky, completely numb... yet in anguish at the same time, a sentence kept repeating itself in her head.

_When will it be enough?_

And now, as if he'd known exactly what to say, his words gave her such conviction that for the first time in so long, before she’d come to him asking for his help before Legion caught her and Boone, she let her guard down in front of another person. She pressed her arms around herself and crumbled before him. She couldn’t see through her tears, but she felt a weight of a body sitting next to her - _an invitation, as if saying it was going to be okay without the use of words_ \- and she accepted, using his new position to gently rest her head against his shoulder and softly wept. 


	4. my recollections are all that's left of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> title song: "Horizons" by Puscifer

She’d slept deeply through the night, her breath dusting lightly against the hairs of his arm. Ulysses knew he needed to catch some shut-eye as well but he couldn’t bring himself to. He felt… paralyzed, almost. Trapped within himself as time shifted and moved without him. Her shaved head would crinkle against the flesh of his arm and it wasn’t entirely _unwanted_ , mostly just an _entirely foreign feeling_. He can’t remember the last time he’d had anyone close enough to feel their heat. When he tried to chase those memories, find a source and a reference for how long it’d been, they would scurry off.

He had a mother once, two mothers in fact. He knew they would hold him, back before he’d grown. Their ghosts walked with him sometimes, keeping him company, but their faces had become so distorted from lack of visual example that they were nothing but a blur. He remembers them now, in good days, by the smell of cooking fire and golden wildflowers and less by what they looked like when they smiled down at him. In bad, he remembers the last time he’d left them at the foot of their clearing before Twisted Hairs fell to Legion. 

Maybe another reason why he felt paralyzed, he figured. Maybe something in the Courier’s story had awakened a deeper knowledge in him he can’t quite understand. Maybe he’d remembered something that his mind wouldn’t quite let him feel.

She made a soft noise in her sleep, and though he didn’t make to move or adjust their position, he could feel her brows pulling together in discontent. He didn’t dare move, didn’t even want to. Felt better to be a stone when he was in this headspace, he wasn’t one to fidget or bite at his nails like she was. Her words echoed across his mind, a piece of her history gifted to him, and he felt the weight of her truth.

As the night carried on and the sky turned above, the faint smell of wildflowers ghosted across his senses. _His given name from feminine lips, chiding him in jest. The rush of blood at seeing him for the first time, and the pit in his stomach coming up over that clearing. Seeing what carelessness could create, that it was his fault._ His _fault._

With tired eyes, he watched as the sun peeked over the horizon as the smell faded from recognition. What he wouldn’t tell this courier, couldn't vocalize properly if he tried, was that he knows exactly what she’s going through. He’s walked this road too. 

-

Six awoke laying on the mattress, without a memory for how she’d gotten there. Her neck was stiff and she hissed as she brought a hand up to rub at the taut muscle, recalling that she'd dozed off leaning into her companion. She searched around the Crows Nest and couldn't find him, figuring he’d gone out looking for more food, or to scout ahead, or whatever it is he did. A part of her that seemed foreign and smaller than what she used to be worried she’d run him off with her story. 

Ignoring the voice of doubt, she stretched out her arms and proceeded to dress in her combat armor, intent on going down to scavenge the nearby commissary. Right as she laced up the last of her boots and made her way down the ramp, she came face to face with a very tired and very grumpy looking Ulysses, carrying some dead Tunneler.

“Oh!” she laughed nervously, “saves me the trouble of going to look for you.” He grunted and proceeded up the ramp with her joining him, taking the Tunneler carcass he’d been lugging off his shoulders.

“Went scavenging, place has been picked bone dry. Deathclaw have scattered a bit, more fragmented. Seen this pattern before, should be able to move again late tonight,” he offered as he shrugged off his duster. She winced, “so… what you’re saying is we’re stuck here.” He nodded as he reached in his pack for some makeshift cooking utensils. She sighed, taking off the chest plate of the combat armor. _So much for scavenging, I guess._

-

As he set about cooking the Tunneler she used his sniper rifle to look on at the Deathclaws up ahead in the overpass. Ulysses had been right, they were all looking around in different directions, scattered about. "Wish I could just pop them off from up here... a great tragedy for me that they have ears. Or… ear holes, rather." He hummed, reached into his pack and she turned just in time for him to pull out the silencer. "No shit!" She exclaimed loudly, before walking back over and swiping it from him, a wicked smile on her face with a hand resting on her hip, "Got anything else in there that would be conveniently useful? Perhaps a tub and some hot water?"

His mask was on today and therefore she couldn't see the lower half of his face but she remained convinced that he was smirking, "when I find one, you will be the first to know. Can smell you from here." She kicked dust under her boot up at him while he fell in contented silence at having caused a rise out of her. 

"You must be in a good mood, your inner bitch is showing."

She had said this in absolutely no seriousness, of course, and turned back to secure the silencer in place so she could do some target practice. "Must be the company I keep," was the gravely response coming from the campfire behind her, which she laughed at sardonically as she lined up her shot, "You're a real comedian when you're not obsessed with getting revenge. Wish I had more of your commentary on the road the first time I walked it."

He didn't respond, probably annoyed that she'd accused him of wanting revenge again, but she didn't care. She busied herself with the mechanical adjustments and she knew he had resumed cooking… Tunneler. She had never really eaten it before, the meat looked too tough for her taste when she was living off the land, but honestly, she would eat anything at this point she was so ravenous. A sequence of small popping noises and two Deathclaws closest to their encampment were taken out. The others further ahead seemed on edge - of course, they would be the smart bastards - and began pacing around more anxiously trying to find something. She resolved to wait a bit, eat some grub, and then resume shooting the rest. 

Resting the rifle next to her leg, she sat across from the large man before her. He had peeled his mask off at some point and was making quick work of his dinner. He seemed to have loosened up around her - at least enough to actually eat around her rather than running off - which she was grateful for. She felt an overwhelming feeling of gratitude as she tore into the Tunneler.

In the month or so between her walk on the long 15 and the fall of Hoover Dam, she had come back to visit the Divide once more for a moment of reflection, thinking its emptiness would be a great place for some brainstorming... only to find him sitting there at the gate, lost in thought overlooking the destruction. 

Today, she was glad she had come back before the carnage ensued. Otherwise, if she hadn’t known he was still there, she wouldn’t have known where to turn. 

A wild thought crept up as she finished her portion and before she knew it the thought was vocalized, “What made you stay?”

He stilled before swallowing his food, “What do you mean?” 

“You’ve stayed in the Divide. You have the whole wasteland to wander, both West and East, but you choose to stay in a city of dead things. What made you stay?” 

She could see the way his jaw clenched from across the fire. He thought about his words carefully, “Wander your whole life, eventually, you grow tired of walking.” Another long pause as she processed this before her eyes lowered in a bitter juxtaposition of understanding and guilt. 

“You want a home,” she said aloud, twirling the piece of food in her hand, more as an observation than an accusation. “And I had taken it from you... you told me so." She swallowed, didn't have the courage to look at him, "I mean, it would make sense… After the home of your childhood was taken from you by Legion, all you want is a place to belong. You thought you could find home in Caesar but... everything you did for him would be a reminder of what it took to get there. So you found the Divide and..." She picked at the course meat beneath her fingers as she considered what to say, "You told me home is where you breathe life into... perhaps you've stayed to try breathing life into something that's dead.”

Rather than objecting as she half expected, he hummed thoughtfully and she wondered if she'd touched a nerve. “Perhaps. Long ago sentiments still lingering. Isn’t that what had driven our ancestors - before the great war - across oceans? A need to belong? A sense of community? Putting in roots?” She smiled mirthfully, but felt this conversation was shifting something between them and was too overwhelmed to say much in response. 

“And what of you, courier? Where did you call home? Would you not return to it, if you could?”

She felt his eyes on her, intense eyes searching for something that she couldn’t give him. 

“Tragically, you know more about that than I do."

He didn't say anything to that and she felt the need to continue, "The first time walking this road was so damn frustrating; I mean here I was, being told all of the terrible things I had done without understanding why I had done them in the first place. Was I desperate for caps? Do I have a family I was feeding? Did I know what that package contained and just didn’t care?” Her eyes looked out to the darkening sky, trailing down a thought, “I didn’t know enough to justify my actions, couldn’t pretend they were dignified, I mean it _sounded_ like something I would do - something so careless - so I took your lessons here and walked with them. But I haven’t... known my name since I was shot in Goodsprings. I woke from my wound with an empty space in my head, the only image burned behind my eyes was staring down a barrel and a shitty checkered suit. I have no idea what my former life looks like, even to this day, and I’ve been dead to whoever was waiting west for me long ago... if there was anyone at all," she felt her shoulders slouching, her throat growing tight. She felt so small in her confession, guilt becoming unbearable, "I feel as though I will never be able to fully atone because I don't fully comprehend the magnitude of regret for a decision I don't understand why I'd made.”

The silence rested heavily on them for a time. Eventually, he spoke more gently, “I saw you only briefly before. Once… maybe twice. You were a courier from the west, and I had only heard a nickname you went by. Enough to recognize you, track you, find you. Walk your road long enough to finally see you delivering the package. Had I known then what I know now, I would have made a note to look longer.”

She studied him carefully, her interest piqued yet she was afraid of the answer, “What did I look like?” 

A note of humor returned to his voice, “You’re shorter than I remembered you being if you can believe it.” 

She laughed and threw her makeshift utensils at him, the tension leaving her shoulders for a brief moment, “Fucking asshole.” 

He dodged them easily, a deep chuckle filling the space between them where it was once heavy, “No. You had hair then. Long, dark hair. You wore a cowboy hat and black boots. You were… youthful. You had an infectious laugh. But you were also filled with rage and arrogance.”

She hummed, folding her arms over her knees. A part of her, small a part as it was, wanted to ask him what her nickname was that she went by. The nickname that brought a whole world of crazy to follow her, karmic debt to catch up on. The question pressed at the edge of her throat, reaching to be let out, but it wasn’t strong enough to be spoken. _Let dead things die._

So instead, she changed the subject before she could change her mind, “Honestly, when I took one look at myself in Doc Mitchell’s hospital bed, and all that caked blood and dirt, I knew I wouldn’t have the patience to deal with it. Shaving my head seemed like the best option and it’s what I’ve been doing since. Even in Legion camps, I'd make myself bleed just to shave my hair with their giant fucking machete's in secret.” As she showed him a few healed over scars on top of her cranium, a ghost of a memory underneath the red tent and in chains - _I'd love to see your hair grown Courier_ \- itched at the corner of her consciousness before she blocked it out. 

_Let dead things die._

When she looked to him, she noted his relaxing expression, lost in contemplation. “Curious. Hair was very important to Twisted Hairs. We wore our hair in braids to carry our messages, much as we do now as courier. The idea of willingly shaving it is foreign to me.”

She smiled, “I remember hearing that on one of your holotapes, how the White Legs thought they were honoring you when really they were bastardizing your culture.” It took her back to thoughts of her burned friend, who she had helped in seeing mercy... so long ago now it seemed. A lesson she had learned through osmosis of teaching, which she had then given freely to the man before her below a sea of sleeping giants. She leaned on her side as she watched the fire dance, hoping Cass and Raul had made it safely to the Sorrow's Camp. “I mostly began doing it for practical reasons, and it turned into survival reasons during my time in the camp. Shaving my hair off robbed them of being able to grab me by the head. I took a hundred beatings for finding these small ways to be insubordinate, but it was all worth it to deprive them of another way to torture me." He grew still across from her, she watched the tension returning to his muscles. "Whereas with you, it's not a survival thing. To cut your hair would be to let go of your history, which you carry with you in the way you present yourself and the way it’s shaped your perceptions of the way things are…” She said thoughtfully, “That makes sense to me. You must have been happy with them... Twisted Hairs, I mean. Do you miss them?”

His shoulders tensed, and for a brief moment, she thought she'd finally pushed him too far. But then after a pause he lay back, his meal mostly eaten but forgotten as he looked up at the sky above, having listened intently to her words and the tension once again receded. “I only think of them in fleeting moments, when remembering the lessons they had taught me.”

She smiled softly, sharing in this candid moment with him. What strange companions they made. Two souls adrift, no one in the world waiting for them. Trying to find a place to breathe life into. 

As he stared up at the sky, she found herself staring at him, allowing herself this small moment to consider him fully. She found his presence… comforting. Moments like these hadn’t come to her in so long, and upon contemplation, she realized she hadn't once felt threatened by him, not since their reckoning all those months ago beneath the sleeping giants of the Divide. 

Ulysses was a naturally intense man, with his philosophical obsessions of old world symbols and his need to talk your ear off about it... but as she grew to understand him she never felt unsafe. She welcomes his counsel and his fleeting moments of humor and is again filled with this same gratitude upon this reflection. 

Almost out of nowhere, her sentiment turns sour in her stomach and she feels a very powerful urge to leave. He looks back at her and she quickly averts her gaze, hoping he didn’t catch her staring, hoping her expression gave nothing away. 

“Do you think it’ll be safe to move out soon?” As she says this, she makes to get up from her spot, dusting off the nonexistent dirt from her pants.

He remains silent for a minute, before conceding, "Yes. It'll take time packing, you can resume your... target practice while you wait."

She looks at him and winks playfully in spite of herself, "How sweet of you to think of me," before grabbing the sniper and getting comfortable again at her perch. The only sound that came from either of them for the remainder of their time in the Crows Nest was the steady popping of her gun.

-

They made their way down the ramp, crouched low to make as minimal noise as possible. When they got to the scattered pile of Deathclaw corpses across the High Road, they set about hacking into the meat and salting it for preservation. He showed her how to cut through to get the most meat possible with each slice, a technique she struggled with. 

Six huffed in frustration, sweat forming on her brow as she tried concentrating on the technique. She could feel the dehydration kicking in and knew it was already affecting her, but they were running low on water and she didn’t want to worry him until it was unavoidable. 

As if he could sense this dilemma, he gently touched her shoulder, careful not to touch her mark. He handed her the salt pile gingerly, instructing her to begin lathering each piece to be prepared to brine while he would carve into the beasts. This proceeded on for several minutes, the only sounds reverberating between them being the sound of tearing meat.

A dogs bark echoed across the deep valleys and canyons of their surroundings. 

They instantly stopped what they were doing and looked to one another. The air was sucked out of her lungs. All she could do, frozen in place, was stare back into his searching eyes. 

_There was no mistaking that bark._

He crept slowly to the edge of the highway, grabbing the sniper rifle as he went to get a better view. Tense minutes passed between them as he scanned the canyons. 

Eventually, he lowered the rifle and crawled on all fours back to where she was crouched. Under his breath, when they were close enough to speak, he confirmed her fear. 

“Legion. Not close enough to get a visual. We need to move.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience x


End file.
